


Between Acts

by AtomicPen



Series: Wings Straight and Swift Will Bring Us Home [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 18:26:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4845761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtomicPen/pseuds/AtomicPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The annums all came and went, year after year, and still he felt as torn as ever. Less a weather vane, more stuck at a fork in the road.</p><p> </p><p>The pieces still part of the series <i>Wings Straight and Swift Will Bring Us Home</i>, but not part of the 100 Days Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Habits Die Hard

It was a bright day, and clear, with a steady breeze coming in of the ocean. Wispy, white clouds speckled the upper skies, and sunlight danced off the foam of rolling waves like coins tossed about in the sea. The day was approaching its zenith, promising to be somewhere between excellently warm and hot, though it’d linger closer to the former if the wind kept up. Gulls cried intermittently in the air, riding the drafts, and sandpipers darted back and forth with the waves along the beach, searching for food. It was one of the nicer days early summer brought to Kirkwall.

And Hawke was in a black mood.

She’d come around that morning and roused Sebastian early–which was a feat, considering he was already an early riser for morning duties at the Chantry. At first he’d thought something was wrong–the Qunari occupation was making everyone’s nerves edgy, but perhaps none quite so much as Hawke’s, who was trying her damnest to be the eye of the storm. Once she had him in tow–after several minutes of impatient waiting outside his cell door, and then a quick stop by the kitchens for a traveling breakfast–they jogged down to the Hanged Man and the Alienage to pick up Isabela and Merrill (the former of whom Sebastian was surprised they could shake awake at all at that hour), and then were off to the Wounded Coast.

“Hawke,” Sebastian called, quickening his jog to catch up with her. “Is there a pressing matter you should tell us about, to keep this pace?”

“You never know when the next ambush will come.” She was curt, her voice as dark as the day was bright. “I’d much rather get it over and done with sooner.”

“Ah.” He nodded slowly, understanding. “You’re looking for a fight today.”

Were she a mage, he was sure the look she sent him would have set his coat aflame. As it was, it was sharp enough to get him to hold his tongue on any other quips he might have thought to share.

Fortunately, Merrill’s shout from behind them saved him from having to salvage any vestige of conversation he hoped to find. “Everyone! We’re about to be attacked!”

The feral look that overtook Hawke’s face and she whirled back to the winding sandy path before them was none Sebastian would have wanted to trifle with. She spotted the bandits coming their way and released her twin kama axes from their holders on her back with a swift, expert flick of the thumb, then darted forward to meet their blades. Isabela was not far behind her, and Merrill positioned herself on the opposite side of the path as he, giving her some distance to cast her spells.

Sebastian shook his head as he quickly strung his bow and nocked an arrow. “Maker preserve their stupid, stupid souls,” he said to no one in particular.

It was a swift thing, the rhythm of a fight–swift to the onlooker, swift to overtake one’s senses. But Sebastian was no stranger to it, even before the few years he had been offering his skills to Hawke; indeed, he’d been almost ashamed at how rusty some of those skills had been when she first called upon him for help. But he was back in his practice again, and it would have alarmed the Grand Cleric if she knew just how easily his old habits came back.

At first he picked off those on the outskirts of where Hawke and Isabela were fighting with his arrows, but after several shots fired, found himself engaged in much closer combat when a bandit shouted for reinforcements that came up from some hidden cove, flanking both him and Merrill. In an instant, he switched from bow to a long dagger, still deadly in close combat even if it was his off-weapon.

A bandit with a covered face charged at him, longsword swinging. Sebastian evaded with a quick shuffle back, catching the blade against his own. Sounding a growl from behind the mask, the bandit attacked again, and again, either only catching a parry from Sebastian’s dagger or missing him entirely as he nimbly avoided each blow.

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Sebastian taunted, spinning the dagger in his hand, eyes bright with battle as he tracked the bandit’s movements. He already knew where the next strike would come from as soon as the bandit lunged again, and he spun out of the way, leaping off the ground into a small flip through the air, landing heavily behind his attacker. Before the bandit could recover and turn, Sebastian whipped his dagger around and caught the unarmored line of exposed tunic across the midriff he’d noted earlier, gutting the bandit.

There was no rest for him after, as three more ran up to replace their fallen comrade. He grinned wildly at them, reaching behind his back into one of his pouches. “I could do this all day.”

As if on some sort of cue, the three surged into motion all at once, weapons aimed for him, but he was prepared for that and tossed the flask he’d retrieved from his pouch into the air, rounding his back leg up to kick the flask straight into the ground at the charging bandits’ feet. It erupted in billowing smoke, and he heard them coughing in the miasma as they tried to get their bearings again.

“Take me if you dare!” he challenged, darting forward to the nearest silhouette, blood singing through his veins as he cut the nearest two down with virtually no hindrance.

“I _will_ take you out, bloody arrogant arsehole!” the last one, a looming warrior with a double-headed axe, snarled as he barreled through the miasma toward Sebastian.

No time to think with the massive blade bearing down on him, it was only the training of the past that saved Sebastian’s skin, dropping and tumbling through the dirt and sand with the axe missing him by a few inches. He saw the dissipating miasma get sucked along with the force of the swing, felt the breeze from it rush past him. Scrambling back up to his feet, the warrior gave him no time to recover before coming after him again, axe arcing through the air.

 _Just like Cameron._  Sebastiandanced back out of the way, feeling the whiff from each swing. There was no room for him to dart in–this warrior was a bit faster than his eldest brother had been, but Sebastian was quicker, always had to be quicker. Even as he ducked and wove, keeping just outside of the reach of the blade, he watched for indicators, for repetition in how the warrior moved.

There it was–the tell. Always leading with the left foot and a slightly slower, but bigger and more powerful, sweep of the axe, brought about by frustration of not landing any blows at all, Sebastian guessed. He shifted his grip on his dagger and began calculating the best chance for him to get in and strike back.

His chance never came. The warrior’s grip on his axe abruptly slackened, and his feet tripped over themselves. Confused, Sebastian dodged out of the way as the bigger man fell, and it was then that he saw the kama axe protruding from the back of the man’s skull. He looked up to a blood-spattered Hawke in mid-stride, coming over to join him and retrieve her axe.

“You looked like you could have used the help,” she said once she’d pried her axe free. He noted she sounded a good bit brighter than she did earlier. “Come on, let’s keep going; there are bound to be more.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond before turning and walking back toward where Isabela and Merrill waited along the path. He shook his head a little as he trailed behind her, drawing out a cloth to wipe off his dagger.

“Traveling with you is never dull, Hawke. That’s for certain, at least.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sebastian Vael Appreciation Week (original found [here](http://atomicpen.tumblr.com/post/116114658704/something-about-the-way-his-old-habits-personality) on tumbr)


	2. Vespers

It was nearly evening by the time they returned to Kirkwall, and the day had been a long one. Hawke had been approached that morning by a Lowtown father, wringing his hands and asking for her help in bringing back a lost son, probably gone somewhere in the scraggly forest northeast the city itself. There was no way she could have refused such a plea, and so had gathered a few of her companions to go and find the boy.

It was not quite as bad as trying to find a needle in a haystack; they’d found him curled up and shaking in a little alcove too small to be a cave proper near the southeast edge of the wood. He’d only come out reluctantly at Hawke’s sweet-talking, and clung to her hand for nearly half the walk back. After that, Sebastian took his quiver off and handed it to Hawke, then carried him the rest of the way, the small head swiftly resting in sleep on one of his shoulders.

His neck and shoulders ached from the unfamiliar weight well before they returned the boy to his grateful father, and Sebastian thankfully rolled some of the kinks out of his muscles once his shoulders were free.

Hawke’s group split not long after that–Anders back to his clinic, Isabela to the Hanged Man for the night–leaving himself and Hawke alone to walk the rest of the way back up to Hightown.

The sun had been low over the horizon when they reunited child and parent, and now as they walked up the stairs toward Hightown, it started its descent beneath it. The sky above was a blaze of oranges and burnished coppers, with the furthest reaches east already purpling into true night. Pausing halfway up the stair, Sebastian twisted back to see the ocean, lapping distant waves of crimson and gold. Hawke went on a few steps higher before she realized he had stopped.

“What is it?”

He lifted his eyes to follow a rising bird in the air seeking its nest before it grew too dark. “Nothing. I just wanted to see the sun set.”

Knowing by heart the tilt of her head when she spoke, a tell she always could not resist when her voice lilted, Sebastian allowed a small smile while his back was still to her. “I never pegged you for a romantic.”

As he chuckled and turned, he found his breath had fled, seeing her with one foot leaned up on the next stair, her auburn hair alight like fire in the dying day. He quickly found it again, shaking the feeling back to where it was normally stowed in his heart. “All the world’s a wonder, in the right light.”

Hawke fixed him with an odd smile playing on her mouth, but said instead, “Come on, then, before that right light of yours grows too dim.”

In Hightown proper, guardsmen were making their rounds, lighting the first of the evening torches and braziers. The merchant shops in the square were closing for the night, and Hawke nodded to the few she knew as they caught her eye. Content to be a quiet companion with her, Sebastian walked beside her as they took their time getting through the square. The light faded as they–he had to call it _strolled_ –between the looming stone walls and buildings before entering the Viscount’s Square. Hawke slowed when her family estate rose beside them, dark ivy crawling up the sides of the doorframe.

“Not a bad day,” she said at length, standing in front of the heavy oak door. Sebastian nodded.

“Any day that does not leave us covered in blood I would call a good one.” Watching her linger by her door, he found himself not wanting to leave just yet. He shifted a little nervously in place, irritated he felt as awkward as a young lover making his first call. _That’s not what this is_ , he told himself, and very nearly believed it. “Hawke, I–”

The not-so-distant peal of a twin set of bells stopped him short; the call to vespers. Both looking to the direction of the Chantry, Sebastian brought his attention back to her first, eyes following the line her craned neck created before he could check them.

“I suppose that’s your bedtime call,” she quipped, turning her gaze back to him, half her face now hidden by the deepening shadows.

“I–yes. I suppose so. Have a pleasant rest of your evening, Hawke.” He hoped he did not sound disappointed to her, giving her a little half-bow before turning to leave.

He hadn’t gone three steps when she called out. “Sebastian, wait.”

She was walking toward him even before he faced her again. “What is–oh.” In her hands was his quiver; he’d forgotten she still had it from when he carried the lost boy home. “Thank you, Hawke.” Taking it, he hoped the smile he gave her was more genuine than it felt. He’d half-heartedly been hoping she’d ask him in for a late supper, or perhaps even some tea. But he should know better by now–he’d heard Varric and Isabela murmuring quietly about how Anders would sometimes spend his nights there, and probably not to have her appraise his manifesto. Sebastian knew about the secret passage between Darktown and the Amell mansion, so even Anders going to his clinic first did not guarantee he’d stay there.

“Good night,” he told her, politely, instead. The smile she gave him was only half formed before he was on his way toward the Chantry again. He even succeeded in not looking back as he crossed through the square to the narrower walkway leading to the Chantry.

He could hear the singing as he neared the steps to the Chantry itself, but suddenly did not feel like going in to join. So he sat on the top step, resting his quiver on the stones next to him, and closed his eyes to listen. It almost sounded like a dream, hearing the Chant sung through the giant double wooden doors, as if he had never lived years within it, and only his time outside, his time with Hawke, was real.

“Maker,” he murmured along with the singers, a set of doors and a world away, “though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure.”

It was the first phrase of the Chant he had found comfort in, years before he had ever been sent to the Chantry. Words of wisdom and strength and resolve his grandfather had taught him. They’d helped him stay his hand once, from shedding the blood of kin, perhaps they would help him find his way along the knife’s edge he walked between Chantry and Hawke these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sebastian Vael Appreciation Week (original found [here](http://atomicpen.tumblr.com/post/115999318034/faejilly-requested-oh-oh-prompt-vespers-idek) on tumblr)


End file.
